I'm going to hell. Er, maybe the heat is an indicator I'm there!

Before I get started here, it should be noted that even writing about what I'm about to makes me a little nauseous. It makes me feel spoiled and rotten. I am grateful for everything I have and know my life is quite good. It's not taken for granted...and I am also very aware I'm going to hell without passing Go or collecting $200.
This weekend was full of accomplishment. Saturday -the entire day- was spent cleaning out my and The Mister's closet. Although we have a nicely sized apartment with a large bedroom, our closet space is SERIOUSLY lacking. This is a major problem for me because as a neat-clutter-free-freak, I insist of everything being put away out of sight. Our closet, as tiny and strange as it is, had gotten completely out of control. Because it's our only closet, EVERYTHING must go in there, including but not limited to: luggage, clothing, shoes, bedding, kendo gear, and anything else that could possibly fit.
The task was so daunting I didn't have the wherewithal to take a 'before' shot. Our closet, my space in particular, is Super small (and not Super in a good way). My section is barely wider than my shoulders and that is damn small. What's a girl to do?
Work with what you've got and send everything else to Goodwill. Said closet is a bizarre "L" shape that was not designed to optimize space. It also was obviously not designed by a woman. Here I am standing in my ENTIRE space. I can barely fit. Now, I'm no fashionista (see clothes in background), but this really is NOT much space.
The Mister and I packed up 5 -five!- bags of clothing and took it to the local clothing drop. We're downsizing and The Mister is a bit of a packrat. He tries hard but although he's running to catch up to the Minimalist-Wagon to which I've hitched my horse, he hasn't quite jumped on -- yet.
Before we got married, I refused to let my belongings get beyond what I could pack into my car. Some called me Spartan, but I preferred Escape Artist. This weekend, The Mister made great strides in progress, and he even (fuckin' finally!) sent his pleather pants (both pairs! I know!) on their way, but not before he put them on and danced around. No, he didn't put them in the garbage and I didn't have the heart to suggest otherwise.

Aside from the cleaning-out-the-closet madness, what the Hades is up with this heat? I've eaten approximately two 24 packs of Popsicle Pops in 3 days. The Mister had a couple, but did have the smarts to ask first, "Uh, may I have a popsicle or will that result in my losing an arm?" He knows how hot the apartment gets during the day. I've turned into an old lady by putting cold, wet cloths on my neck and running my wrists under the cold faucet.
On a good note, my Nothing-But-Sugar-Free-Popsicle-Pops-Diet (TM) has me down five pounds.
**BTW, Popsicle has one of the BEST websites ever!**